


Just Like Old Times

by Goodchampagneandprivateplanes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, All Over Again, Bad Cooking, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Break Up, Confessions, Cooking, Crying, Declarations Of Love, Drunk Louis, Drunken Confessions, Falling In Love, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Happy, Happy Ending, Hate to Love, I Love You, In a Car, Internal Monologue, Kissing, Love, Love Confessions, Loving each other, M/M, Making Out, Making Up, Mutual Pining, No Sex, No Smut, Pining, Pining larry, Sleeping Together, Sorry Not Sorry, True Love, car talks, crying together, drunk, larry stylinson - Freeform, pining harry styles, pining louis tomlinson, sober harry, they just really love each other, they needed it, to make up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 13:22:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7173548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goodchampagneandprivateplanes/pseuds/Goodchampagneandprivateplanes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You have to make a choice now, though. Left and you go to my place. Right, you go to your mother’s.” </p><p>Louis hesitated for a moment. The light turned green and Harry looked at him again. </p><p>“Left or right?” </p><p> </p><p>Or,</p><p>The one where Louis drunkingly dials his ex, and they try to rekindle the fire that was once there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Like Old Times

Harry woke up at 3am to his phone ringing in his ear. He glanced at his screen just as the call ended. Thirteen missed calls. The first twelve calls must’ve just incorporated into his dream. 

Who the _fuck_ was calling him at 3am? And thirteen times? Didn’t they get the hint after the first two calls? 

Harry blinked and sat up a bit before he grabbed his phone. He hit the home button, and before he could even read who called him, they called him again. 

Louis. Fucking _Louis_ was calling him a dozen times at 3am. Fucking. Louis. 

Harry hit ignore and put his phone on silent. He didn’t want to talk to him. Not at 3am, not at 6am, not ever. 

See, Louis and Harry broke up about three months ago. It wasn’t exactly a peaceful break up, either. There were glasses flying, holes being put in the wall by angry fists, and tears. God, there were a lot of tears. That was then followed by a lot of empty bottles and broken photo frames. Quickly followed by new phone screen photos and a change of the name in the phone. On both ends. They never talked about it after that. Nobody dared to bring it up. 

They were the perfect couple. They had all of the stereotypical photos. They held hands in airports and kissed on the beach. They had cute pool pictures on each other’s twitters and the cliche kissing in the rain pictures on Instagram, which then followed by a rainbow photo. 

It went sour over time. In the photos, they slowly became distant. There were less frequent posts, less frequent “I love you”’s, less frequent hand holding. They were both stressed beyond belief. Zayn had left a few months prior to their break up due to the stress in the band. They were now feeling the stress. They desperately needed a break, but there was no room for a break in their busy schedule. They needed time for them to figure out how to make this relationship work. They were never granted that time. And, God, they tried their best to make it work. 

They tried _too_ hard. The feelings became fake and the smiles became forced. In interviews, they sat further apart. They didn’t post photos of each other anymore. It just went downhill. One night, they both had too much to drink, and the stress was built up just enough. Harry had broke down and yelled at Louis for not loving him anymore. That fight quickly escalated to about how Louis has too much fun without him, how Harry is too uptight; how Louis is too carefree, how Harry cares too much; how Harry is not wild enough, how Louis is too wild; how Louis drinks too much, how Harry smokes weed too much; how they both need help but they couldn't help each other anymore. 

The night ended with Harry in his bed and Louis at his mother’s house. The next morning, Harry texted Louis, but Louis never replied. They were done at that point, for real. And that was three months ago. They haven't spoke in a month. Management gave them a break once they realized that there were bad vibes between the two of them. 

So, why the _hell_ was Louis calling him _now_? 

He turned his phone over and saw Louis’ name on his screen again. Begrudgingly, he picked up his phone. He didn’t even bother to say hello. 

“Haz?” Louis said, surprised. 

“Hm?” Harry muttered into the phone. He sat up more. He hadn’t heard Louis’ voice in months. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it. Maybe he thought about what he did. Maybe he was ready to talk. Sure, it was 3am, but Harry still yearned to be with him, to this day. There wasn’t a day he didn't wish it was different. He, honestly, missed him. 

“Harry!” Louis yelled into the phone. Harry flung his hand away from his ear in reaction to the volume. “Harry! You answered? Hey, lad!” he slurred. 

Drunk. Louis was _drunk_. That was one way to ruin the mood. 

“What do you want, Louis?” Harry said, sternly. He was hoping for a nice conversation, but instead, he was met with slurred words and probably, soon, regret. 

“I need a favor, Haz.” 

“I don’t owe you anything.” 

“Listen, listen, listen, shhhh,” Louis slurred. Harry could hear the club music in the background, along with others in the background chatting. “I need a ride home! That’s all!” 

Harry rolled his eyes. He contemplated on hanging up on the drunk man, but he decided against that. Maybe Louis would talk more and say something that would make Harry change his mind. 

He waited. 

“Haz?” Louis asked. 

“I was sleeping, Louis.” 

“So?” 

Typical. So _fucking_ typical. 

Harry sighed into the phone. 

“Call Liam. Or Niall. I don’t care. Goodbye, Louis.” 

“No no no! Niall is drunk! Liam said no.” Harry could almost hear the pout on his face. God, he missed that pout. Whenever Louis didn’t get his way, he would pout, basically to no end. Harry would pout back, but then Louis would do the puppy eyes, which made Harry melt. And then Harry would kiss his pouted lips and would give into whatever Louis wanted. 

“Haz?” Louis asked again. 

“Who else is with you?” 

“They all left!” Louis drunkingly exclaimed. He sounded as if he was going to cry, and that broke Harry’s heat. “Listen! I don’t even have your number anymore. I swear. It’s out of my phone. I’m drunk and I still remember your fucking number, Harry. I mean, I’m not that drunk. I just had a few shots. But I remember. I still _fucking_ remember your bloody number and I’m sorry. And nobody else is here and Liam is mad at me because I drink too much and I should’ve listened to you and I know you don't want to hear me anymore. I’ll just call someone else. Forget it.” 

Louis hung up and sighed. He hung his head and headed outside of the club to collect his thoughts. He was not about to cry in the middle of the dancefloor. 

Harry sat up in bed and bit his lip, contemplating what to do. He never did delete Louis’ number out of his phone, even though he should’ve. He knew he needed to, but he couldn't bring himself to. So, he didn’t. He never did. And, even at 3am, with him calling him drunk, he didn't delete his number. 

Instead, he called him back. 

Louis picked up and sniffled. Harry could tell he was crying and that broke his heart a bit. 

“Harry?” Louis said after a brief moment of silence. 

“Where are you?” Harry asked. He got out of bed, phone pressed to his ear. He just slid on the closest pair of pants he could find. He knew Louis wouldn't care what he was wearing. He threw on a sweatshirt that was hanging on the wall and stepped into a pair of flip flops. Sure, it wasn’t exactly weather appropriate, but who cares? 

Louis slurred out the club name and Harry nodded. 

“I’ll be there in 15.” 

“Thanks, Haz. Love you,” Louis said. Harry stuttered and quickly hung up. 

“Love you too,” he said, after making sure the phone was hung up. 

Fuck. 

_Fuck._

And, almost to the minute, Harry pulled up to the club that Louis was at. Louis was sitting on a bench, disheveled. God, Harry hated seeing Louis like that. He just wanted to hug him and run his fingers through his hair. He wanted to say everything would be okay. He wanted to say he was okay and that they could be okay. There was so much he wanted to say, and he knew he couldn't say any of it because it just wasn't right to do. Not now, at least. 

Louis climbed into Harry’s passenger side and looked at him. Harry just sat in the driver seat, looking over Louis. He brushed Louis’ hair out of his eyes and looked at him. They sat in silence for a moment, both wondering what to do, exactly. 

Louis just wanted to cry. He wanted to cry and apologize for everything he said that night. He wanted to tell Harry that he still thought about him at 6am, at noon, at 3pm, and 3am, fuck - every time. He wanted to tell Harry that the key is still where it always was at his mother’s house in case he wanted to come see him. He wanted to make Harry tea and cupcakes when he was sad. He wanted to curl into Harry under a blanket while Titanic played on the television, even tough they would never actually watch the movie, because they would be too involved with each other. Louis wanted Harry’s fingers in his hair and his feet intertwined with his. He wanted it all. 

Harry wanted to pull Louis into his lap and wrap his arms around him. He wanted to tell him that they could bee good again. He wanted to be civil with Louis again. He missed his voice. He missed his hair. He missed how he tried to make breakfast every Sunday, even though he could only really make burnt toast and undercooked eggs. Harry never did figure out how he managed to do that practically every week. He always told Louis he loved it, even though he barely was able to tolerate it. He loved how Louis would also try to make him cupcakes to cheer him up. Inevitably, Louis would wind up with more flour on him than in the bowl, and the cupcakes were always much too dense. But, he decorated them with different colored frostings to make him smile. He always went out of his way to make Harry happy and he appreciated that. Every time. Regardless to how over — or undercooked it was. Harry wanted to curl into him and hold him and comfort him. 

They both wanted so much and neither knew the other still wanted it. They were supposed to still be mad at each other. They were supposed to hate each other. Harry had hooked up with other people, sure. So had Louis. They both had their own coping methods. They both tried to move on. They thought they had. Harry thought for sure that he had until now. He didn’t forget about Louis, of course, but he forgot how much he loved him — how much he was in love with him. God. He wasn’t sure if he regretted picking Louis up now. All of the feelings were coming back to him. Hard. 

Louis bit his lip and looked down at his lap. 

“I’m sorry. Just — yeah. Take me to my mom’s house,” Louis muttered. 

“Will she be mad?” Harry asked. He started the car up again and turned the radio on low. He was not about to sit in silence with the ex-love of his life, his ex-soulmate in the seat next to him. 

Louis shrugged. 

“Doesn’t matter. She’ll love me regardless,” Louis said. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. He did _not_ mean it like that. He did not mean to throw shade at his situation. Wow. Fuck. 

Louis stuttered, trying to cover up his words. Fuck. 

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean that she won’t be mad at me. I can go there. She’ll be fine with me being drunk. It’s okay,” Louis blurted out quickly after. God. He had definitely just fucked up everything. 

Harry didn’t let Louis see it, but he was smiling at his attempt to cover his words. He knew what he meant, for sure. He knew he didn’t mean it maliciously. He plainly meant that his mother would love him, drunk or not. 

“You can stay at my place, if she’ll be mad,” Harry said. He glanced over at Louis as they pulled up to a stop light. “You have to make a choice now, though. Left and you go to my place. Right, you go to your mother’s.” 

Louis hesitated for a moment. The light turned green and Harry looked at him again. 

“Left or right?” 

“Left. Go left,” Louis muttered. He hoped he wouldn’t regret his decision. 

Harry made the left and fixed his hair. He hoped he wouldn't regret his decision to offer the choice to him. 

Fuck, they missed each other. 

They sat in silence the rest of the ride. Given, it was only a ten minute ride. But, both were caught too much up in their thoughts; Harry caught in his sober thoughts, Louis caught in his drunk thoughts. Even sober, Harry wanted Louis more than ever. 

Harry pulled into the driveway and shut the car off. The headlights went off and the car went dark after a few seconds. Harry looked at Louis and Louis looked at Harry. Neither knew what to say. 

So, they didn’t say anything. They said nothing at all. Even in the dark, they were able to find each other. 

They moved closer to one another, leaning over the middle console in the car. Louis rested his forehead on Harry’s. Both of their eyes were closed. God, they missed each other too much. They never meant the shit that happened that night. 

Their breathing was in sync now. Harry relaxed his body, and soon Louis followed. They were home, again. They were with each other. They belonged here. 

They never pulled away from each other. They sat there in silence, eyelashes fluttering for a minute. Harry then cupped Louis’ cheeks and pressed his lips to his. Louis was drunk, but that didn’t matter in that moment. Louis smiled into the kiss. He missed Harry’s lips. He missed Harry’s tongue. He missed Harry. Fuck, he missed everything, just like Harry did. 

Neither dared to break the kiss in fear of it being the last bit of contact they would have. Louis deepened the kiss, brushing his tongue barely over Harry’s lip. Harry moved his hands back and ran his fingers through Louis’ hair and kept them there. Louis wrapped his arms around the back of Harry’s neck. They missed each other. They missed this. They missed the love, they missed the kisses, they missed the “I love you”s. 

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis mumbled out after pulling away for a brief second. Harry wasn’t having conversation. He leaned closer to Louis and made his lips find his in the dark. They always managed to find a way, no matter what. 

Lips were pressed against lips, hands pressed against backs, and soon, chests were pressed against chests. Harry broke the kiss, this time. 

“Fuck, Lou. I fucking missed you. I am so sorry,” Harry said. Louis shushed him and curled his fingers in Harry’s hair. 

“We’ll talk in the morning, Haz,” Louis whispered. He pressed a gentle kiss to Harry’s forehead. “I don’t think you want this conversation when I’m not 100% sober.” 

Harry appreciated that he was at least sober enough to realize he was too drunk. 

They sat there, foreheads pressed against each other, in the darkness. They both had so much to say, but neither knew when to say it. They didn't know even _if_ they should say it. But they needed to. 

Louis rested his head on Harry’s shoulder. He missed the way his head fit perfectly into the curve that Harry’s shoulder had. Harry rested his head on top of his, just like they used to. As if nothing ever happened. As if there were no malicious words slung around three months ago. As if there were no bottles flung at heads, at walls. As if there was no backstabbing, no lies, no falling out of love. As if there was still something there. As if there is still something — as if there is something. 

There still was something. 

Neither had the heart to suggest getting out of the car. They were both far too comfortable to move. They had missed the other’s touch too much. Sure, they both would wake up with sore necks and in odd positions, but there was nothing better in that moment. They were with each other. Comfortable. Together. Like they were meant to be. Like they were home. 

And, they slept, just like that — Louis resting on Harry’s shoulder and Harry resting on Louis. Just like old times. 

Harry was the first to wake up. He shifted a bit, careful not to wake Louis. He moved his head in small circles to release the spasm that was inevitable. He knew that Louis would have it worse when he woke up. He lost track of time. His phone was dead since it was off charge in the car. He didn't dare to move to start up the car to see what time it was. He was in no rush. It could be 1pm, for all he cared. There was nothing that he would rather be doing than sitting in the car with Louis resting on him. Fuck, he loved this. He loved him. 

It wasn’t long before Louis fluttered his eyes open. He forgot where he was and woke up a bit disorientated. He pulled quickly away from Harry, grabbing his neck as he moved in a way that his neck did _not_ agree with. Harry jumped back a bit from his sudden movements. 

Louis vaguely remembered last night. He remembered calling Harry, and going home, and kissing. He didn’t remember falling asleep like that, though. He wasn’t quite sure what to think about last night. Well, actually, he did know. He loved last night. He felt wonderful and safe and warm. He felt like he hadn't felt in months. He felt protected and taken care of. He felt _happy_. 

Louis looked at Harry, and Harry looked at Louis. Neither were sure what the other was thinking. Louis knew he missed Harry. Harry knew he missed Louis. Louis knew he still loved Harry. Harry knew he still loved Louis, deep down. 

They knew it. But they didn’t know about the other. 

Harry crawled into the backseat, since there was more room back there, rather than in the front seat. Louis followed him back, and they sat at opposite sides of the car — Louis against the door of the rear passenger side door, Harry against the door of the rear driver side door. 

Harry wasn't sure why they didn't just go into the house. But, then he realized that there were too many memories inside. Inside that house, Louis made him Sunday breakfast. Inside that house, Louis whispered life plans to Harry while they were trying to sleep. In that house, they watched Titanic. In that house, they had food fights and endless laughs. In that house, Louis tried to go surfing down the stair banister, and ended up falling and breaking his arm — he was lucky he didn't break his head, and Harry never let him live that one down. In that house, Louis said “I love you” for the first time. In that house, Louis said “I love you” for the last time. 

“So…” Louis said, “I guess we have to talk.” 

“I guess so,” Harry said. He hung his head down, playing with his hands in his lap. He wasn't sure where to start. Louis wasn't sure either. 

“So….” Louis started again. He was hoping something would come to his mind. There were too many thoughts trying to make their way out, though. He couldn't focus. 

“I missed you,” Harry blurted out. 

Fuck. That was probably too direct. 

“I missed you too, Haz,” Louis said, slowly. He bit his lip and hung his head down, as well. Neither were looking at each other. They both had tears brimming at their eyes and didn't want the other to see. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…” 

“I’m sorry too,” Harry replied. He sniffled quietly, but not quietly enough. Louis caught the noise and looked up at him.  
“Oh, Haz…” he murmured softly. 

Harry bit his lip and brushed away the tears that were forming in his eyes. Nope. He was not going to break down in front of Louis. Not today. 

That’s what he planned, at least. 

Louis moved over next to Harry and tilted his chin up with his fingers, gently. He looked at him in the eyes. Harry saw that Louis’ eyes were glassy and tears were threatening to pour out, as well. That made Harry lose it. 

He hid his head in his hands and sobbed openly. He couldn't stand being away from Louis. He thought he was able to — he had it under control. He had started dating around again. He had started getting over him. He deleted his number. He deleted pictures from his phone. 

Given, he never deleted pictures of them together on any of his social media accounts. And, hell, he looked through them whenever he missed Louis. Every Sunday, actually. He missed his undercooked eggs and burnt toast with the love of his life who tried desperately to make him happy. Fuck. 

Harry sniffled and wiped his tears off of his cheeks before he looked up out of his hands. He was met with Louis’ face. His cheeks were now also tear-stained. They both were crying at this point. 

“I’m so sorry,” Louis said again. “I’m so so sorry. I fucked up. I shouldn't have said those things. I shouldn’t have. Simple. I fucking missed you. I missed you so much. I wanted to just hold you after our fight and tell you I loved you. I wanted to just lay in bed and hold you and whisper sweet things and I’m sorry I didn’t.” 

“I’m so sorry I wasn't there for you. I should've been. I fucked up, too. It wasn’t just you,” Harry said. He held his breath for a second before letting it out slowly. He looked at Louis, who was now looking down at the seat again. This time, Harry tilted his chin up and looked at him. 

“I — I love you, still, Harry. I still love you.” 

“I still love you too, Louis. I never stopped.” 

“Never?” 

“Never.” 

They looked at each other, in silence, for a moment. Louis ran his fingers through Harry’s hair and Harry reached over and fixed Louis’ hair, again. He knew Louis wanted to, but he also probably wanted to hide his face as much as possible. 

“I’ll be better, Haz. I promise. I’ll do everything. I can’t do this without you,” Louis said, trying not to cry again. 

“I want to do everything with you, Louis.” 

“Can we? Can we maybe just try this again? I’m sick of missing you. I’m sick of having to only live in memories of us. I want to make new memories. Will you make new memories with me, Harry?” 

Harry just nodded. Words did not want to come out of his mouth. Well, actually, too many words wanted to come out of his mouth. He wanted to tell Louis how much he meant to him and how much he still means to him. Nothing could change that. 

They were home. 

They sat there, just memorizing one another once again. 

“Harry?” 

“Hm?” 

“Let’s go inside. I mean, if that’s okay,” Louis offered. Harry nodded and laughed. It was such a simple request, and he could not be happier in this moment to get out of the car. 

So they went inside, and Louis went straight to the kitchen. He wrapped an apron around his waist, just like old times. In fact, it was _his_ apron, that Harry never did get rid of. When they split, Harry stayed in the house and Louis moved out. He left a few things there, like this apron, a few sweatshirts, and a toothbrush. Just in case. 

Harry didn’t have the heart to throw any of it out, so it sat there, as if Louis never left. It was comforting to Harry. 

Harry jumped onto the counter, just like old times, but this time, he cocked an eyebrow at Louis. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Sunday breakfast. You drove me home, the least I could do is make you breakfast,” Louis smirked. Of course, it was a lot more than that. It was an homage to old times — to how it used to be — to how it will be again. Harry smiled in recognition, and knew that it had the hidden meaning behind it. 

And, just like how it used to be, Louis made undercooked eggs and burnt toast. Even in their three months apart, Louis didn’t change his cooking ways. 

Harry took a picture of breakfast, the plate in front with Louis’ Adidas sweatshirt in the background. Louis’ tattoos were visible in the photo as well. Harry smiled to himself and enjoyed the photo. 

He opened up Instagram on his phone, and posted up that photo, in color, with a caption of “Just like old times.” 

“I love you,” Harry said. 

“I love you too,” Louis said, a smile growing wide on his face. 

“What’s that smile for, Tomlinson?” 

“You said it first, this time. You’ve _never_ said it first.” 

“Well, Louis Tomlinson, I love you.” 

“I love you too, Styles. Always will.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to write 50 fics in 100 days. Feel free to comment requests! xo


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